The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden light over the sprawling compound that had become sanctuary and prison. Sam Wilson stood at his bedroom window, packing a duffle bag with dispassionate efficiency. A framed photograph of the previous team—before the fractures grew too deep—caught his eye. He grimaced, turning away, as the memories threatened to drown him in nostalgia he couldn't afford.
In the past few years, the Rogue Avengers had weathered storms that had shaped their identities, but Sam couldn't shake the feeling that the current tempest was of their own making, brought forth by none other than Steve Rogers. The Captain had always been a beacon of righteousness, but somewhere along the way, it felt as if that righteousness had twisted into something suffocating.
Sam exhaled sharply as he thought of Wanda Maximoff, the girl who had once saved the world but now was treated like a fragile doll. Steve's coddling of her, treating her as if she were still the frightened, lost girl from the early days, grated at Sam. Wanda was an adult, more powerful and independently capable than anyone gave her credit for, yet under Steve's watch, she was relegated to a state of perpetual innocence.
"What she needs is a partner, not a protector," Sam muttered to himself, zipping the bag shut.
He slung the duffle over his shoulder as he stepped onto the hallway, the silence thick with unsaid words and muffled resentment. Every corner of the compound felt heavy with the weight of broken relationships, but Sam made his way toward the exit, determined to break free.
As he reached the door, it swung open, revealing Steve, his eyes piercing with concern.
"Sam! Where are you going?"
"I'm leaving, Steve," Sam replied, keeping his tone even. "It's time for me to move on."
Steve stepped forward, blocking his path.
"Does this have something to do with Tony? I can't change what happened between you two, but—"
"It has nothing to do with Tony!" Sam snapped, the frustration boiling over. "This is about you. About how you've changed. You've turned into someone I barely recognize."
Steve faltered slightly, his brows furrowed.
"What do you mean?"
"You're so wrapped up in this idea that you're 'protecting' everyone that you're suffocating them," Sam said, his voice firm. "Wanda is not a child, and blaming everything on Tony doesn't absolve you of your failures. You're the one pushing us apart! You act as if every mistake is his fault, and you refuse to see your role in this mess."
Steve's expression hardened, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his blue eyes.
"I'm trying to keep us together. You know how risky things have been... how dangerous."
"By drawing lines between us? By refusing to admit when you're wrong?" Sam's heart raced with intensity. "You think holding onto this ideal of being a 'soldier' or a 'leader' is going to keep us safe? That it'll protect you from fallout? It won't! It just isolates you."
For the first time, Sam saw a chink in Steve's armor. The weight of the truth hung between them, unsaid and unacknowledged.
"You're walking away from this, Sam. You're walking away from us," Steve countered, his voice muffled by hurt. "You're choosing to leave it all behind."
"I'm trying to save what little is left, by taking myself out of the equation," Sam replied, the resolution in his tone unfaltering. "You have to stop seeing everything in black and white. You have to learn to understand the gray—it's where relationships live and breathe. You've let that slip away."
As the words settled like heavy stones, Sam moved past Steve and out into the dusky evening air. He didn't turn back, didn't look for any sign from the man who had once been a brother.
Behind him, in the fading light, Steve's silhouette hardened into a shape of solitude. He was left to wrestle with the harsh truth, the unraveling of his reality—a leader who had failed, not just his team, but himself.
And as Sam drove away from the compound, he left a piece of his heart behind, shrouded in the memories of what once was and what would never be again.